The feet of lesser beings
come to the circus o our summit meeting
and our hands hold time and space
by the umbilical

We are next on after the clowns
before the trained apes

We are draining our senses in the heights
in the one night only show of
paid for, understood as rigged-up
slightly pitied bravery

We grope darkly
You serene in a way
but just as frightened as me
aware that the moment
must be held now or lost in a murmer
of satisfied customers.

Now my darling we hang on for life
but these are not the frightened limbs
of tight-rope wlkers any more

Now we are swinging on the ropeless sky
of mutually entwining and rope-bursting flesh

Now we have done and
where is the cord they all came to watch
us fall from
into the one face of their dead-pan sea ?

What we have done is to make from sawdust
and sadistic expectation
an unseen laughing-crying thing
a soul independent even of eternity.